24 Hours
by PoppyJ
Summary: 24 phone calls across 24 hours that Dean has taken from Sam. Each chapter will be another call. Mostly pre-series no doubt, no slash. More Sammy-beating to come!


**Long time, no write! **

**24 times Dean has taken a call from Sam, every hour of the day. **

**Dislaimer: not mine. **

1200 Hours. 

It was hot.

The sun was hot. The air was hot. Inside was hot. Outside was hot.

Worst of all, Dean was hot.

And yes, he knew very well he was hot in _that _way too – any member of the female species between the ages of thirteen and three hundred couldn't stop staring as his 19-year old, muscular, toned body strode down the street.

But today, Dean was also hot in the sweaty, panting, gross, unattractive way today – the unseasonal hundred degree weather in the middle of May had hindered him unable of physical and mental work, too, so he had resigned himself to a day on the couch, watching back to back kids cartoons on cable, naked.

Absolutely butt n' ball naked.

His boss at the garage he'd snagged some work in downtown had called the motel, telling Dean not to bother coming in; everybody seemed to be flat out inside their homes, desperately seeking the cool promise of shade, not willing to improve the body work of their cars, or modify their engines.

Not that Dean was complaining.

So Dean was left with an empty house – schools, on the other hand, enjoyed torturing their students on the boiling days with no air conditioning – and a whole lot of free time, and after a quick run into town, which turned into a sweaty crawl in his shiny hot Impala, he was pretty much set for the day.

A cold beer in hand and a small, pink, electrical fan plugged into the socket by the couch, Dean's sweaty, slimy day was just about to turn into a cool, relaxed, 6 hours in his birthday suit –

The shrill tone of the motel room phone wailed out.

Dean froze.

Annoyance came first – how dare anyone cut across his cartoon binge, his free day at home!

He quickly sobered when sense came to the forefront of his mind; who actually called them, and if it was, when was it ever good news?

Hundreds of scenarios flitted across his eyes; his dad, dead; his brother, dead; his dad, crashed car; his brother, a car accident; his boss, opening shop…

Most likely, Dean knew, the reason for the call was the latter; he would know by some strange, natural instinct that his father was in trouble, something that had rescued the man countless times. In the same manner, he would know if Sam was in danger, a trait that had kept the kid safe and alive for the past 14 and a half years.

Speaking of the kid, there was a strange tingling in the back of his mind, as if something was off…

He quickly leaned over and grabbed the white receiver. "Hello?" he asked, praying, praying it wasn't Sam, praying it was his boss, praying it was a reason to go back to work, rather than his kid brother hurt…

"Dean?" the familiar voice crackled over the line; in the background, mills of teenage voices laughing, talking, cat-calling. "Dean, you there?"

Dean's heart began to thump. "Sammy, you okay? What's wrong?"

"Dean…" the kid hesitated, "I, uh… I forgot my math book. Could you come bring it? I tried the garage but the guy there said he'd shut early…"

Dean let out a long, relieved breath – then quickly covered himself with a cushion from the couch, a little wierded out by talking to his brother whilst butt n' ball. "You gotta be kidding."

"Dean, please," Sam huffed out, "I only got twenty minutes for lunch!"

The elder brother sighed, thought for a moment, then switched off the TV. "Wait outside the gate."

"I owe you one, man."

"Fucking right," Dean murmured, throwing the phone back onto the receiver.

Dean stayed sitting for a moment whilst he allowed the chilling scenarios to leave his consciousness; the images of his brother, bloody and pulped on the side of the road; his brother, stuck in a bank, a guy in a mask sticking a gun to the back of his head; his brother, a knife stuck through his shoulder, bleeding out in the city…

Sam was in school, getting pushed and shoved in a busy corridor with every other ordinary student, his friends leading him to the front gates.

_He's fine, _Dean told himself, switching off the little pink fan, _Sam's fine. _

_Now where are my pants? _

**I'm well aware it's not brilliant, but I've not written in a looong time! Please review!  
Hopefully I'll be back soon J **

**Poppy**


End file.
